HE CAN'T ALP IT!
"My only desire is to meet you on the terms on which long ago we stood when you gallantly offered to take me up the Matterhorn."—Mr. Gladstone's Letter to Professor Tyndall.
Mr. Gladstone and Professor Tyndall discovered seated on the edge of a Crevasse.
Mr. Gladstone. I didn't know a glacier was so frightfully slippery.
Prof. Tyndall. Slippery—ha! Like some politicians I might mention!
Mr. Gladstone. That last avalanche, too, bowled us over so neatly that I feel distinctly limp.
Prof. Tyndall (severely). You should try and avoid this "subserviency to outside influences." I always do.
Mr. Gladstone (ignoring the remark). What range is that over there?
Prof. Tyndall. The Pennine Alps, stoopid! From their name they would seem a suitable residence for a person who scribbles twaddle in Magazines—ahem! No personal allusion, of course.
Mr. Gladstone (gaily). Of course not! But isn't it rather dangerous sitting here, with that bank of snow just above us? Suppose it came down on us!
Prof. Tyndall. As the Judges came down on your Parnellite allies, eh? Perhaps, as we're getting to some nasty places, we might be tied together now.
Mr. Gladstone (warmly). Quite so. A union of hearts, in fact.
[After a few hours' more climbing, they reach the summit of the Matterhorn.
Prof. Tyndall. Sorry to leave you, but you see I only promised to take you up, not to see you safe down again. Ta, ta! I may as well mention that I consider you a "ubiquitous blast-furn——"
[Disappears suddenly over the edge.
Mr. Gladstone. Dear me! what dreadful language! And he appears to have cut the rope! He must be a Separatist, after all! If it were Pitt, now, I should call his conduct rather "base and blackguardly." Perhaps I shall meet the "Professor at the Tea-Table"—at Zermatt!
[Descends cautiously.
THE BURGLAR'S BACK.[1]
"Lord Esher is greatly concerned about the probable condition of a burglar's back after a couple of floggings."—Times.
Air—"Those Evening Bells."
The burglar's back, the burglar's back!
'Twill soon be rash a crib to crack.
Bill Sikes will sigh for happier times,
When "cats" were not the meed of crimes.
The burglar's back! Lord Esher pales
When thinking of its crimson wales.
His feelings will not stand the strain,
Of dwelling on the ruffian's pain.
The brute may "bash," the scoundrel shoot,
Hack with his knife, "purr" with his boot;
But though he "bash," or "purr," or hack,
You must not touch the burglar's back.
No, let the brutal burglar burgle;
Whilst sentiment will calmly gurgle
Bland platitudes, but not attack
That sacred thing, the burglar's back!
[1] "The Burglar's Back"—Is he? then the sooner he's caught and sent to penal servitude the better.—Ed.
